


lit the fire

by orphan_account



Series: divine but not devout [2]
Category: Clone High
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Loss of Virginity, Revelations, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26992081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: For all the bravado, in the act he’s a completely different person.
Relationships: JFK/Joan of Arc (Clone High)
Series: divine but not devout [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970005
Comments: 10
Kudos: 171





	lit the fire

**Author's Note:**

> uh well i dont really like how this turned out but i cant bare to look at it anymore. here. you asked for it.

For all the bravado regarding him wanting to sleep with her, all the innuendos and propositions, in the actual act he’s a completely different person. 

She’s in his lap, a place she has recently grown very fond of being and JFK seems very content to just admire her, here, bare for him and only him. His eyes languidly travel down her body, mapping out the curves in a desperate attempt to retain them in his memory. Her pale skin is flushed and her lipstick is nearly gone, he’s no doubt wearing it on his own skin now.

“You’re, er uh, sure you want to do this?” It’s against his best interest to ask, he knows, he’s pretty sure she’ll come to her senses and go back to pining for Abe any second if he asks enough.

_ Abe _ . The self-absorbed part of him (which is most of him) is horribly obsessed with the fact he took this from  _ him _ . He didn’t deserve this. Never would have. 

But he’s pretty sure he doesn’t deserve this either.

“Kennedy, I’ve been sure the last five times you’ve asked.” It comes out a little breathless and underneath her exasperated, monotone reply he can just barely catch the nervous edge to her voice. He raises an eyebrow. 

“Then what’s botherin’ you?” He can see it in her face, how her eyes go far-away and she knits her eyebrows together for a split second every once and awhile.

“What’s bothering me is that you won’t  _ get on with it,”  _ she cants her hips back to purposefully grind against his crotch as if reminding him of what they’re doing- earning a sharp inhale. As if he’s forgotten. 

“Too busy enjoying the view,” the smirk he gives with hooded eyes makes her head spin and she may or may not suddenly realize why so many girls fawn over him. He drags a hand down the length of her spine, stopping to knead into the soft flesh of her hips possessively, dipping closer to where she desperately wants him to touch but never close enough. 

“Ugh-” she almost-whines, “-Jack,  _ please _ .”

“You can get the D after you fess up, Joansie.”

_ A nickname, huh?  _

_ Wait-  _

She deadpans. “I hate you.”

He props himself up until he’s close enough to kiss the scowl off her face. Something she begrudgingly can’t resist. 

“I don’t think you do.”

If she can’t call it hatred she’d have to put a name to it, a terrifying thought. 

She lasts a few more minutes of irritatingly chaste kissing before she breaks. 

“Alright,” her frustrated voice is raw, and she finally drops the act, “I can’t stop thinking about how-” she stops to chew on her bottom lip for a moment before continuing, “- I don’t know what I’m doing and you-”

“You  _ definitely  _ know what you’re doing and I know I’m-” The words ramble out unfiltered and disjointed, “I’m not going to compare to-”

“ _ Joan _ .” He’s got his serious face on now, a rare moment. 

Their eyes meet and her expression is so vulnerable it scares him. He chooses his next words carefully. 

“I find it deeply offensive you think so poorly of yourself,” he smooths his hands across her thighs as if to prove a point,” when you're the finest broad in this whole damn school.” 

“You’re just-,” She admonishes, but he interrupts her, “I almost turned  _ gay _ for you, Joan, I, er uh-” he averts his eyes and she can tell he immediately regrets disclosing that, “-theres not a thing you could do right now that I would not find sexy.” 

She looks at him, eyes narrowed, for a long moment trying to discern if he’s being serious.

“You almost-?” 

“I don't want to talk about it!”

She gives a vaguely amused, but frustrated sigh. “I didn’t imagine sex with you, of all people, would involve this much psychoanalysis and zero action.” 

He instantly perks up at that, grinning, “You, er uh,  _ imagined _ this?”

“Sure, yeah, if that’s what you want to get from that.” The faint blush on her cheeks betrays her. 

All things considered, it’s very convincing. 

He leans forward to kiss her again and she’s already meeting him halfway. 

He finally allows his hands to roam further, finding purchase at the clasp of her black lace bra. There’s a shake to his hand as he unfastens it and fumbles- cursing against her mouth. He’s usually good at this trick. The seconds it takes for him to remove the garment feel like hours but finally, it’s off and he doesn’t miss how her muscles immediately tense. One part self-consciousness and one part bracing for something stupid to come out of his mouth. 

It never comes. He swallows the urge to say something cheesy for once in his life and simply traces a hand till it's resting below her left breast. Gauging her reaction. She sucks in a breath, tucks her head into his neck because she can’t bear to look in his eyes right now. 

She’s never been bare in front of anyone like this and she’s terrified. When she played this out in her mind late at night it was always Abe, and her being hopelessly inexperienced meant nothing because neither was he. But now- 

That train of thought is abruptly, blessedly, interrupted when he cups a hand over her breast and rolls the nipple between his fingers. 

It gets the reaction he wants, a shiver rippling down her body as she arches into the touch. Another hand slips into the hem of her underwear and his calloused fingers against her skin is almost too much. And when they tentatively dip into her folds and nudge against her clit it  _ is _ too much, too much new sensation and  _ why does it feel so different when he does it _ .

“Relax,” He commands softly, and she releases the breath she was holding. 

He keeps a thumb on her clit, working circles around it while he tests her with his fingers, silently boasting to himself about just how wet he’s managed to get her. And she rocks into the touch, gently at first but eventually with conviction, grinding against his hand. 

“I’ve never-,” she barely manages to get out between shallow breaths, dizzy with it all, and he hums in acknowledgment before she can get the rest of the words out.  _ He knows, she already knows that he does and she’s not sure what compulsion made her say that, of course he knows.  _

“Why do you think I’ve been, uh, gettin' you worked up for so long.” His voice is thick with arousal and some emotion she can’t put a name to. 

_ Oh.  _

Another finger joins the first with little resistance, and he’s drunk on how she moves against him. Legs spreading to give him better access and shifting until he’s right where she wants him. Relaxing into his touch,  _ finally _ .

He curls them inside her and she responds with a _ moan _ . A real one, he can tell, he’s been with plenty of broads who have faked it but none of that matters anymore because he made  _ Joan of Arc _ moan. It terrifies him to think he might not get to hear it again, after tonight, again and again. Will she let him? Part of him wants to just do this forever, tease her until she can’t remember _ Abe _ or any other problem she’s ever had. 

“Kennedy,” she groans against his neck and it makes him shiver, “take your  _ fucking _ pants off.” She leans back to meet his eyes and she doesn’t miss how they dart from hers to her chest and back again, a dopey grin on his face. 

“I, er uh, thought I would be the one beggin’ for-” he lays the Bostonian accent on thick this time, but it all dies in his throat when she tugs on the waistband of his stupid formal pants and shoots him a look. His favorite expression of hers. He might not get this lucky again, but he knows he’ll  _ always _ be able to piss her off (hey, negative attention is attention)

He complies but makes a show out of it, removing his hands from her underwear to maneuver himself free of his last articles of clothing all while Joan watches with rapt attention. And he can’t pretend the feeling of finally being free from his confines is blissful, his cock eagerly showing itself. He just barely catches her reaction to it,  _ him _ , a flutter of her eyelids and a blush that rises from her sternum to her cheeks.

Her eyes dart back to meet his and she realizes she's been caught staring, the red deepens to a crimson. Instead of saying the many cheesy one-liners, his brain is screaming at him to blurt out, he simply waggles his eyebrows.

She briefly considers walking back home entirely naked and deeply unsatisfied, but only briefly. Instead, she watches as he removes her panties and tosses them off into the abyss- where all their clothes have now disappeared.

The gravitas of the situation hits her all at once, at the same time she meets his eyes and sees him looking up at her with the most reverential gaze she’s ever seen. She lurches forward to kiss him, hard, and it’s different from any other time they’ve kissed this night. It’s all-consuming, his mind goes blank and all he can think of is the softness of her skin and her chest against his and  _ Joan _ .

That is, until he realizes he’s tossed his pants  _ before  _ he got the condom out of his back pocket.  _ Shit. _ He breaks the kiss, mutters an apology and much to her confusion untangles himself from her body to rummage through the pile of clothes on the ground. She doesn’t realize what he’s looking for until he triumphantly pulls up the little wrapper, maybe because she’s too focused on how nice his ass looks from this angle and  _ oh right that’s pretty important, christ.  _

Once he’s back in bed, she returns to her place straddling him thankful that he didn’t switch positions. She wants to be in control for this part, ride him at her own pace. And he is _ thrilled _ to let her. 

_ Whatever she wants, _ he thinks drunkenly, repeats it like a mantra,  _ use me.  _ For the second time this night.

The next few moments seem to pass in slow-motion. She holds a breath as he slips on the condom, rolling it down to the base under her heated gaze and watches her steady herself over him. One hand on her hip, he guides her down until he’s just started to ease himself in. __

_ God. _

She lowers herself inch by inch until he’s fully inside her. Her hands search blindly for his until she can interlock her fingers with his again. Why, of all things, is  _ tha _ t what makes his adam's apple bob ( _ JFK doesn’t hold hands during sex, no broads ‘ve done that before _ ) His fingers dig into her hip hard enough to leave bruises when she rises only to sink back down again, cursing under his breath while his abs flex under the palm of her hand. 

She sets the pace, arches down over his body and braces herself before taking him, hips meeting hips, again and again. Cautiously at first, still getting used to the feeling and stretch of it all, but with building confidence. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he chokes out, overwhelmed by the sight in front of him. And she smiles, obviously  proud of the effect she’s having on him, and grinds into him with renewed fervor. 

He disentangles his fingers from hers to trail down to where their bodies are joined and circle around her clit, a cocky grin blooming on his face when her hips stutter and she gasps out his name. 

He can feel her tightening around him, she’s close. His fingers speed up their movements and she grinds into them. 

Then, all at once, her body goes taught. A string of muttered curses leaves her mouth between shallow gasps for breath and he watches in awe as she shutters and clenches around him. 

_ She’s beautiful. _ He reaches that revelation watching her come undone on him.  _ Not sexy, not hot (well, yes, she is all of those things, but more than that) just the most beautiful girl he’s ever been with.  _ She slumps against his chest and just breathes for a moment, until she comes back to reality and can manage a coherent thought.

“Alright?” He asks, voice strained and rough, when she's recovered enough to meet his eyes. She nods, a little shaken, a little enthralled with his attentiveness,  _ he cares _ . “Can I-” he nudges her side, and she realizes he’s asking if he can be on top. And as nice as this position is, her legs are just a _ little _ achy. She nods again and he enthusiastically maneuvers her until his body is above her. She shifts her hips up just right and _ oh, this angle is very nice. _

The first few thrusts of his hips and she knows he’s not going to last much longer. He’s got a white-knuckle grip on the bedsheet and his eyes are glazed over, hazy with desire. 

He dips his head down to bury it in her neck, and she realizes he’s mumbling something. With each thrust, his words grow more fervent, desperate, and she can just barely make out curses scattered between slurred admissions.  _ Beautiful _ , he breathes out,  _ will make you forget, fuck, Joan.  _ And she realizes, suddenly, that his accent is gone, replaced by what she can only guess is his real voice. No more mimicry, just whatever lied underneath it all. Some part of her hopes she’ll be able to hear it again. 

She responds by hooking her legs around his waist, allowing him that much deeper inside her, earning a new string of sweet nothings hissed against the skin of her throat. She distantly wonders if he says these things to every girl he sleeps with. Doesn’t feel like it, feels  _ real _ , but that might be the just-lost-your-virginity-to-him endorphins talking. She chases those thoughts away with a cant of her hips, meeting his thrust. She smoothes a hand down the expanse of his chest, feeling the muscles tremor in response to her touch. 

He gives one last broken stutter of his hips before plunging into her, burying himself as deep as he can go with one last groan. All she can do is watch, enthralled, as he trembles with hooded, dark eyes,  _ devout.  _ It's a spectacle of her own creation. 

It's a long while before either of them move. He stays buried in her for a long while as he recovers, not quite ready to leave her yet. _Not quite ready for it to be over_. And when she looks at him, a curious and open expression on her face, it feels like staring into the sun.

She leans forward to place a kiss to the corner of his mouth, a faint smile playing on her lips as she does so. 

When she leans back, he desperately wants to say something but all the words fall silent in his throat. 

**Author's Note:**

> But where were they when they called your name  
> And they lit the fire?  
> When the voices came, you cut your hair  
> But you're still confused  
> But I'm the one with a heavy heart  
> Cause I'll follow you
> 
> Joan of Arc - Arcade Fire


End file.
